Haunted
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Ron checks in on Harry, not expecting the horror awaiting him. Can he help his best friend? Warning - Possible Triggers, read the A/N.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

**A/N - I do not pretend to know anything much more than the basics of PTSD, and I mean absolutely no offence to anyone who suffers it. This fic does contain psychological issues that could possibly be triggering, so please read with care.**

**Written for;**

**Hogwarts - Defence - Assignment 6. Word - Silence. Quote - "They won't stay dead."**

**Disney Character Competition - Heimlich - Prompt - Sunlight**

**Hunger Games Trilogy Competition - Gale **

**Duelling Competition - Harry Potter Quote - "The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure." **

**Pick A Card Competition - Two Of Diamonds **

**Greek Mythology Competition - Hector **

**Haunted **

Ron walked through the halls of Grimmauld Place. The old house, despite it being warmer now that Hermione had gotten her wand on it, still gave him the creeps. The silence seemed overwhelmingly loud, as ludicrous as the thought sounded, even in Ron's own mind. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but Ron knew he had to be here somewhere. After all, he hadn't left since the war ended two months ago. Not finding him downstairs, Ron slowly made his way to the very top of the house, checking every room on his way up the stairs as he did.

Reaching Sirius' old room, Ron could feel the familiar magic of his best friend around the doorway, and he pushed it open cautiously. At first glance, the room looked empty, lit only by a small amount of sunlight through the dusty window, but then Ron saw Harry sitting in the corner, his arms wrapped around his legs, rocking where he sat. He was shouting, though Ron couldn't hear a thing, and he dispelled the Silencing Charm as soon as the thought occurred to him.

"No, no, go away, please, go away, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry was begging and pleading with someone Ron couldn't see, and he watched in horror as Harry took his arms from around his legs to start hitting himself in the side of the head, still screaming the same words.

Ron, moving quickly, grabbed Harry's arms and held them still, making the black haired boy look up at him. The despair in his eyes broke Ron's heart, and he knelt down to easier look into the glassy green eyes.

"Ron, make them stop," Harry cried, trying to pull his arms away from the strong grip of the redhead.

"Make who go away, Harry," Ron asked calmly, not really knowing what else to do, and wishing Hermione was there with him.

"They keep blaming me, Ron, they keep telling me it was all my fault. My fault. They died and it's my fault, but they won't stay dead! They keep coming back and it's all my fault, my fault," Harry mumbled, making no sense with his words, but scaring Ron with the urgency of which he said them.

Ron pulled Harry into a fierce one armed hug, holding him tightly so he couldn't hurt himself, and pulled his wand out with his other hand.

"Expecto Patronum," he muttered, and as his patronus appeared, he gave it a quick, but urgent message for Hermione to come as soon as humanly possible. He wanted to help his friend, but he was so far out of his depth that he didn't know the first thing about how to try.

Ron rocked Harry gently, listening to the sobs and pleads quieten a little, until his friend fell into an uneasy sleep. Still rocking him, afraid to stop the rhythm in case it woke him, Ron shifted slightly so he was leaning against the wall, giving himself a little support until Hermione arrived, hopefully knowing what to do.

Hermione arrived, thankfully quietly creeping through the door, a little over twenty minutes later.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, crouching beside the two boys.

"When I got here, I found him in the corner, rocking and beating himself up, literally. He said something about someone not leaving him alone, and someone who died, who won't stay dead? I don't know, Hermione, but we have to help him. He was crying and begging, and it was awful," Ron told her.

"Someone who died? And he said what?"

"Do you know where his pensieve is?" Ron asked, and when she nodded, he pulled the memory from his mind with his wand, placing it into a glass vial she conjured for him. "Watch that, and hurry," he told her, offering her a strained smile when she stroked his cheek.

"I'll be quick," she promised, hurrying from the room. Ron nodded to no one, and all the while, he continued to rock his friend.

xxxx

Hermione returned ten minutes later, tears streaking down her face as she gave Ron the memory back.

"I think he has PTSD," she said, reaching out a hand to move the hair from Harry's face before thinking better of it. Dropping her hand to her said, she sat down beside Ron. "He needs help, help that we can't give him. A therapist, maybe."

"He's not mad, Hermione," Ron growled.

"I didn't say he was, but he's been through a lot, Ron. He died, for Merlin's sake. None of us thought about the impact that would have on him psychologically. We need to floo him to St Mungo's."

"He'll hate us, Hermione. I won't do that to him, there has to be something. A potion, or a spell, or a ritual, or bloody something that doesn't involve abandoning him. I won't do that, not again. Never again."

"It's not abandoning him, Ron, but there is no easy fix for this. It'll be hard, and it might not work, but it's worth a try. He needs help," she insisted.

Ron frowned. "You go ahead, but I want no part of it. I'll not try and stop you fetching them, but I'm not happy, Hermione. There has to be something we can do, that doesn't include sending him off to the mental ward."

Hermione sighed. "If only it were that easy. I'll floo the hospital. I'm sorry, Ron, but this is the only way."

Ron nodded once, turning his gaze away from her. He heard her sign once more before she left the room again. He knew when she came back, she would have healers with her to take Harry away.

Half-assed plans of escape chased themselves around his mind, but he also knew she was right. Even if he didn't want to admit it. She usually was.

Harry started fidgeting and moaning just as Ron heard low voices and footsteps on the stairs. Closing his eyes, he cursed his bad luck. Why couldn't Harry have stayed asleep until they moved him.

"They're coming to get me, Ron, stop them, please, stop them," Harry whimpered, and for a moment, Ron thought Harry was talking about the Healers. Another moan, and an attempt to clutch his head told Ron he was talking about the 'dead people'.

"They're not coming, Harry. It wasn't your fault, you saved people, you didn't kill anyone. You can beat them, Harry, you can beat them all. You saved people," Ron insisted fiercely.

Hermione, followed by three Healers, entered the room. Ron looked up to meet their gaze, glaring as he did so, daring them to say the wrong thing.

"Ah, this is the patient, then," said a plump woman in a stainless white coat.

"Can't you just give him a Potion," Ron asked, not allowing anyone to come to close to his friend. "Or use Legilimency, you know, read his mind and remove whatever it is that's making him feel like this?"

A tall man looked disdainfully at Ron. "The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure," he said, his voice dry and full of sarcasm.

Ron growled. "See here, you sarcastic bastard, -"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, cutting Ron off before he could say any more.

"What?" Ron asked, his eyes hard as he looked at his girlfriend. "If he's the best the hospital has to offer, they can fuck off now. I'll look after Harry myself."

Before Hermione could answer, the third healer, another man, spoke.

"Son, I know you want to do what's best for your friend, but keeping him here won't help him. You can come with us, while we get him checked in, and I'll personally see to it that you'll be informed of anything and everything that's happening with him. Seriously, we can help your friend. We know what we're doing."

Still scowling, and with another glare at the tall healer for good measure, Ron nodded. Moving away from his still whimpering best friend, he stood to the side as the Lady and the nicer male healer moved closer to Harry, ready to restrain him if necessary.

The following ten minutes would be the worst of Ron's life. Begging, pleading, shouting, and fighting from Harry, forcing the Healers to sedate and restrain him, would haunt Ron's dreams until he died.

None were worse then the last words Harry spoke, however. Looking straight into Ron's eyes, he whispered, "I don't want to go away, save me, Ron, please."

Ron watched helplessly as Harry was levitated from the room, guilt already eating him up inside. Yet again, he had abandoned his friend when Harry needed him most.


End file.
